


Someone In The Crowd

by Glitterprinsessa



Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: AU, Anxiety, Dancing, Falling In Love, Fluff, La La Land, La La Land AU, Lots of Cute Stuff, M/M, Song fic, figure skating, i think this is a song fic atleast, my babies are sad, pair skating, pair skating au, you know y'all have wanted them to pair skate more
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-02-11
Updated: 2017-02-22
Packaged: 2018-09-23 15:51:17
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 11,784
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9664244
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Glitterprinsessa/pseuds/Glitterprinsessa
Summary: Yuuri is a skater on the brink of retirement, tired of constantly losing in the Grand Prix. Viktor is the five times gold medalist that has lost sight of what is really important.Together they form the La La Land AU you know you've always wanted.





	1. A Lovely Night

**Author's Note:**

> Guys I love La La Land, I love Viktuuri, and a certain (link below, one day I'll figure out how to make proper links) piece of art made me want to write this. So this is the first Chapter in an already 16000 going on so much more fic that I'm so in love with I wanted to update before I went on a holiday, and just in time for Valentines! 
> 
> Enjoy!
> 
> http://a-zebra-was-here.tumblr.com/post/156153029480/holy-fuck-i-just-finished-la-la-land-and-jesus-i
> 
> SONGS THIS CHAPTER (Listen to for ultime mood-setting):  
> Another Day of Sun  
> Someone in the Crowd  
> A Lovely Night

Yuuri had dropped everything to go and skate in Detroit. You could say that he’d sacrificed everything for his dream. In a moment of passion, he’d decided that he wanted to go for it. In a moment, he’d thrown away all his anxiety and he’d sent an email to the skating club, going over all the local and national competitions he’d won, and sent it. He’d forgotten all about it in the two weeks it took for them to reply. When he’d seen the bolded lines sitting in his inbox, his heart had stopped. It felt surreal, and in the next few days he’d thought it was worth it.

He had his friends and family’s support through the whole process. They gave him their blessing to go with promises to skype, call and write regularly, so it hadn’t felt too crazy when he was preparing his move. He’d just kept moving forward, packing, planning, booking tickets, and he hadn’t stopped to think about it until he was there in Detroit, feeling lost, and like he was just one in a bunch. He couldn’t understand that he was one of the skaters picked to skate internationally for the crowd.

Was he really good enough to be part of them? Sometimes the pressure of it became too much, closing in on him and filling him with anxiety.

He was just a dime a dozen skater, after all.

Yuuri felt it as he was on the ice, skating in circles around the other skaters, going over his program with slow, half-hearted motions. He glances around at the people around him, skaters like him, with dreams like his and passion burning just as strong as his.

Yuuri’s eyes caught the girl who’s practicing her spins, hair whipping around her head as she spun, blades scratching lines in the ice, pigs digging in and slowing her motions, stopping her from achieving perfection. She stumbled on it, arms leaving their tight position across her chest as she reached out to catch herself against the hard surface. She cried out when she landed, refusing to look at anyone as she stubbornly got up again.

Yuuri knew she’s not from Detroit either. He’s seen the boy on her lock screen, the one that grins in front of the Hollywood sight, making thumbs up. He asked her once, if they were close. The sad smile he got in response still haunts him sometimes, making him glad that he didn’t have anyone that close to leave behind.

Yuuri attempts a Choctaw, the steps always coming easiest to him as he executes it perfectly, though he misjudged how fast Phichit went towards him, and he had to stop himself from crashing into his friend.

“Yuuri!” Phichit laughs, hands coming up to grab Yuuri’s upper arms, making them spin around each other in a circle. “I didn’t see you there! Sorry!”

Phichit had been like Yuuri. He’d crossed over the oceans to follow his dream. He couldn’t achieve his goals if he had stayed back in Thailand, he’d told Yuuri that in confidence, that he had saved up everything he had. His parents had helped him save up every nickel they had so they could send their only son across the oceans to chase after a pipedream. It paid back, of course. Every dollar Phichit didn’t need for living expenses and skating equipment went back to his parents.

Skating wasn’t cheap. You had to buy skates, and care for them, getting them sharpened and exchange them when they got old and too worn so you couldn’t skate in them any longer. You had to pay for the rink time, and give the coach a salary. There were so many clothes that you needed, workout clothes and team jackets, and the costumes to compete in. They weren’t cheap. Bedazzled to the max to catch the judges’ eyes, with bright colors and expensive fabrics, and preferably you would have a spare one too in case one wore out or broke during a season.

There were so many people there, who had signed up, moved and immigrated to the famous rink and club in Detroit in their search to become the best. They were all so young, so passionate and full of life and will. They were all there every practice, giving it their all. They poured their entire beings, their blood, sweat and tears into the sport, spending hours after hours practicing. They got up after they fell, came back to practice after a lost competition with the will and spirit to be better. They all thought that next time.

Next time they would win.

Yuuri was indeed lucky that he could be here, surrounded by other people that were as passionate for their interest that he was. Most of the time they motivated each other,

But only one could be the best.

Yuuri laughed as Phichit spun them around an extra circle, watching their feet so they wouldn’t crash into each other. He’d reached up to grab Phichit’s elbows, now he changed his grip, grabbing the other man so he could dip in back in a mock move of a pair dance.

“Shouldn’t you two focus on your own programs?” their heads whipped around to find their coach, Celestino, grinning at them. “Or are you thinking about changing to pair skating? I’d refrain from doing so, you’re way too out of synch to get anywhere.”

“Sorry, coach!” they said in unison as they straightened up, smiling at each other and their coach before pushing away from each other, Yuuri doing another spin out of the embrace. “Won’t happen again!”

-

No matter how much he tried, Yuuri couldn’t place higher than a sixth place in the Grand Prix final. If he even qualified for the Grand Prix final at all. He was the highest ranked figure skater in Japan, sure. He’d been winning nationals after nationals, placing good or high in the qualifying competitions, but whenever he managed to grab a spot in the finals, seeing the finish line, so close that he could almost taste victory, he’d get held back. Something would seize up in his chest – this time it was homesickness, a call that his beloved dog was dead, his mother’s voice still echoing in his ears, drowning out the sound of the music making him miss all his queues – and he would fail. He’d be a few points short, of he would flub his last jump, and that would be it. He would be out. He’d be down like a fallen soldier. 

Other years, he would be fighting on. He would clench his jaw, steeling himself for another off-season of grueling work, drilling himself to the bones again. Until every jump, every step sequence and every spin was etched into his spine so he would never forget it again.

Other years he would already be preparing for the next season while he was steam-powering his way through the nationals and try to qualify for the World Championships, ready to step up there next year and win.

This year wasn’t like the other years. He had never been this close – he was in his life’s best shape. He had every reason to be great, to be able to do all the jumps and spins and he should’ve made it. He couldn’t understand, the feeling of drowning slowly creeping up through his chest as he thought of it. It started deep in his stomach as a lump, pressing its way through his lungs, filling them up and leaving him gasping. It pressed on every side of his throat, burning and choking him.

Yuuri felt tears welling up, leaving him gasping for air as that and the feeling against his throat made it even harder to breathe. He curled up, chest heaving as it tried to fill with air, tried to clear the heavy feeling that pressed him into a ball on the floor, leaving him sobbing as he tried to claw at his throat to open it up. He tried to remember how to breathe, his body has forgotten everything except making his heart beat like a jackhammer, trying to keep up. Thoughts kept spinning, kept pushing him down, kept whispering poisoned words in his ears.

He should’ve been better. He truly was worthless to end up in sixth place, he wasn’t going to get better than this. He had reached the Grand Prix finals, and he had failed. He had crashed and burned. He was done. There was nothing more he could do now, he had done everything he could, and this was the end. He couldn’t climb any higher than this. He was getting old, younger skater came and replaced him. They pushed him away, pushed him down, beat him time after time. He should just step down. He should retire, stop trying to be the best at something he clearly wasn’t the best at.

Yuuri should just retire already.

-

Another gold. Viktor had lost count of how many medals he had gotten by now. It was all rinse, repeat by now. He would create a performance with the will to surprise the crowd, to create something that would wow them, something that would catch everyone off guard, take them by storm and blow them away.

But everything had stopped being surprising.

People had started to expect that from him. They knew what he was capable of, they had seen everything that he had to offer. He already held both the free skate and short program records, he had won gold five consecutive years now, he was the reigning Grand Prix champion, holding both that title and the World title. He was the European champion, the living legend of the skating world, Russia’s darling. His country was proud of him, he had brought them back to glory, put them on the map again, keeping them in the spotlight.

And he was bored out of his mind. No, not bored. He would never get bored of skating. Skating was still his passion, he still adored the feeling of ice underneath his skates, he still got filled to the brim with _something_ , something that made it all worth it, every time he landed a jump.

It had lost its shine. Everything seemed to dull, now. The colors had faded away. He’d seen them lose the brightness long ago. Once gold wasn’t an unavailable dream but highly achievable, even an expected outcome at his competitions. They had lost the intensity, and now he was just going through the motions.

Create a program, choosing something that was completely different from the year before, always trying to keep it new and exciting for the crowd and the judges.

Pick an outfit, this year more beautiful than the next and so on. More colors, more skin, more jewels, more lace, more _everything._

Drill the movements until he could do them in his sleep, memorize the music until he was humming it in the shower, on the bus, when he ran, when he cooked, playing in his head when he spoke to his coach.

Go out on the ice and perform it to standing ovations and cheers that made the whole arena vibrate with the energy of the crowd.

Get exceptionally high scored from the judges, win gold. Stand on the podium with the same people beneath you, reaching for your heels but never catching up.

Attend the banquets with the same people, the same forgettable conversations, the same forgettable faces.

Go to the next competition.

Rinse, repeat.

Viktor wasn’t mesmerized by it any longer. He’d been in a trance for the last twenty years of his life, hypnotized and blinded by his love for the sport, driven by that very same love, the very want to get back on the ice as if being reunited with an old lover. When he was young he’d been craving it. He’d always wanted to learn more, to be better, to grow and evolve into something even more beautiful than already existed. He wanted to be there.

Now he was there. And he was sick of it. He didn’t want to be on the top any more. He didn’t want to be part of this world any longer. It had nothing left to offer him.

Viktor hadn’t even planned to attend the banquet; the revelation had prompted a yelling at from Yakov though.

“You have to go!” his coach had barked, eyes ablaze with anger at his star pupil. Viktor didn’t feel the same spark, he didn’t even have the energy to argue. He wasn’t in the mood for it any more. “You’re the gold medalist! You have responsibilities!”

“Don’t you dare leave me alone with all those boring stiff people,” Yuri had huffed, the teen having moodily changed into a suit and allowed Yakow to neaten him up, even if he was trying his best to rumple the suit with how he was sitting sideways in the armchair in the hotel room, hands constantly running through his hair, or fingering on his tie, or pulling at his sleeves. Messing up, ruining the symmetry and the picture perfect. Viktor found that watching it relaxed him.

“Maybe you’ll meet the love of your life,” Georgi had offered, the sap practically vibrating with want to go back down to the party so he could be glued to his girlfriend’s side again. They were always inseparable, always seen together in pictures and at practice. Of course, Georgi was still young enough to believe in love. Viktor doubted that anyone could hold his interest for longer than five minutes. Well, anyone except Chris, but his friend would probably be off on his own, talking to the people that were interested in the silver medalist. That or he would sneak off with his own boyfriend to make out in a bathroom of something, leaving Viktor to his fate and to the press.

In the end, he only went because he knew there would be alcohol. Well, that and Yakov threatened to drag him there by his ear if he didn’t follow them willingly, and he wasn’t bored enough to be humiliated yet. Yet.

That’s how he ended up by the side of the dancefloor, a drink in hand and staring at the man that had taken to the floor. Yuri stood by his side, a disgusted look on his face when the black-haired man motioned for him to join him. The teen had outright refused the first few tried, before the man dragged him onto the floor by force, leaving Yuri to either dance or run away. Yuri Plisetsky never ran away from a challenge.

He wasn’t drunk, Viktor could tell that much. Viktor had spotted him by the drinks table before when he went for a refill, four empty flutes in front of him. He was tipsy at most when he had made his way over to the person in charge of the music. Viktor hadn’t bothered to listen in on their conversation, he had only stopped to consider it when the music abruptly changed, some pop song coming on instead of the classical music or soft jazz that always sounded in the background on the banquet so people could talk over it. The volume had risen too, and before he had collected himself, people had shoved him to the side as they all moved away from the center of the room where the man had made a spot for himself and was dancing.

Viktor had seen the look on his face. He had looked like he had given up something. He danced like a man with a conviction, like someone with no regrets. When he came over to pull Yuri into the ring, practically forcing the teen into a dance-off, Viktor had realized what it was. He danced like a man that was going out with a bang. Someone that had absolutely no shame, ready to do everything to make people remember him. He wasn’t going to stand in the background anymore. He was breaking out his best moves, Viktor could tell as he spun into some hip-hop steps Viktor did _not_ expect a figure skater to be able to do. The flexibility, sure, but not the actual moves.

It was the ultimate surprise.

Viktor was kind of mad that he hadn’t figured it out himself.

He couldn’t help it, though. His eyes were glued to the man, following the movements of his hips, watching his feet as he moved across the floor, catching everybody’s eyes and forbidding them from looking anywhere else. Yuri furiously tried to keep up, giving the battle everything he got. Viktor knew he would deny it later, but he seemed to have fun at the challenge of the dance. He couldn’t keep it up forever though; soon he loudly gave in, stepping out of the circle before the other skater could stop him, leaving him to find another victim.

Without prompt, Chris took to the circle. Viktor hadn’t even noticed him coming back from his make-out session, though the rumpled look of his hair witnessed to what he had been doing.

Suddenly there was a pole in the middle, had that one always been there? Viktor supposed that it had, for some reason, because they couldn’t just put up a pole in less than five minutes and somehow make it hold for what they did to it. They put their whole bodyweight onto that pole, trusting it to allow them the leverage to stay up, trusting it to stay firm as they posed, worming around each other, half naked – when had that happened?!

Viktor spotted their pants on the floor, supposing that Chris had something to do with it – strong legs and arms holding onto the pole, showing off to the horrified crowd beneath them. Viktor watched as his friend put himself flat in the air, watching as the black-haired skater stood on him, a champagne bottle somehow having found its way into his hand, or had it always been there? Viktor couldn’t tell anymore. He was mesmerized. He couldn’t stop looking as they seemed finished, both men panting and laughing as they got down from the pole.

Chris’ body shone with sweat, the other skater’s glasses askew as they made their way back – oh. Their way back was towards Viktor. They got dressed again as they made their way back, helping each other locate their clothes and looking hallway decent at least.

Chris smirked at him, but Viktor wasn’t looking at him. His eyes locked with brown ones, so filled with such an intensity that left Viktor out of breath. He missed looking like that. He wanted that passion so desperately, he wanted to find that spark.

“Viktor,” the other skater spoke with an accent that Viktor couldn’t quite place. It sounded eastern Asian, but he couldn’t pinpoint it much more than that. It sparked something deep within him, something he hadn’t felt in years. Something he wanted to chase after so badly.

“What’s your name?” he asked in trance, he needed to know. He couldn’t lose this man to the crowds after tonight. He refused to let him leave his life. Not after sparking something like that inside him again.

“Yuuri,” the man – Yuuri – answered, he looked disappointed that Viktor hadn’t known. Viktor didn’t like that look on him at all.

“Is it my turn?” he found himself asking, hands feeling clammy and head spinning.

“Dance with me,” Yuuri confirmed, holding his hand out to him, much gentler with Viktor than he had been with the other’s.

He wasn’t forcing him into it, probably because this didn’t feel like a challenge. It wasn’t supposed to be a competition. He was meeting Viktor half-way. This was a pair dance. He needed Viktor to join him halfway.

Viktor reached out, time seemingly painfully slow. It took years before he closed his fingers around the Yuuri’s. He held onto it, tightly. He didn’t want to let go. He wasn’t going to let go. Not now. The crowd was losing interest. They were slowly closing into the room again, falling back into soft conversations, creating a murmur around them. Viktor barely even noticed.

“Of course,” he breathed, heart hitching at the way Yuuri lit up. His hand clasped around Viktor’s and he dragged him out on the dance floor. The floor had been cleared, after Yuuri’s stunt with Chris and Yuri they knew what was coming when the Japanese reentered the floor, this time with Viktor in tow.

Viktor could hear the mumbling as a white noise in the background, if he had stopped, he could’ve imagined the whispers. People asking who the other skater thought he was, so shamelessly wrapping his arms around Viktor, and why would Viktor even dignify the man a response. They all looked down on the sixth placing skater, and if Viktor had listened, he probably would’ve agreed.

As it were, Viktor was distracted. Distracted by the warm brown eyes that were challenging him now, playfully so, mirrored in the way his hands closed around Viktor’s, holding them tight. They were a bit clammy, not that surprising considering how he had been in constant movement for the last hour or so, warmth emerging from them in pulses. Viktor’s own hand, cold, always cold from ice and naturally so, welcomed the warmth.

Their bodies moved together easily, Viktor watched as Yuuri moved, mirroring his movements as they moved around each other. Looking at the pictures later, Viktor would say it looked like they had done it before.

Viktor let himself be consumed by the dance that night, he couldn’t take his eyes off Yuuri. The other man was mesmerizing, the way he moved made Viktor forget about the music playing, instead it seemed like Yuuri was the one creating the music. Viktor couldn’t stop looking at him. Yuuri moved closer to him, he was inviting him into the dance, eyes asking for permission and Viktor’s body granted it to him. He allowed Yuuri to wrap an arm around his waist, the solid warmth comforting, and guiding him through the new motions of their pair dance. Viktor had never been that close to someone with their clothes still on. It was nice, in a way, the way Yuuri led him through the motions.

All too soon, the dance was over, both panting as they stopped, chests pressed together, Yuuri’s arm still wrapped around him and his hand fisted in Viktor’s jacket. Blue eyes were locked with brown, saying a thousand words and yet none at all. Viktor wanted to say so much, his head was swimming with declarations of love, with praise and songs.

“Do you want to see something?” he asked instead, lacing their fingers together as he pulled Yuuri with him, out of the room, away from the banquet. He wasn’t ready to end the night there, he wanted to have more time with Yuuri. He had other plans for them. Something new.

Something surprising.

 -

They found themselves back in a rink. Viktor knew Sochi, and he knew the rink they had found. They had trained in it, warmed up before competitions there and rehearsed so many times. Viktor had been there alone, and surrounded by teammates, and he knew the personnel enough so they would let him inside without much fuss. Everybody in Russia knew who Viktor Nikiforov was after all, and they were not going to deny him access to any ice, even if he came with a rumpled looking foreigner in his wake in the middle of the night (closer to ten than anything, Yuuri was an early drinker) the minutes after closing.

They stood by the rink, the atmosphere between them changed completely. They intensity was gone now, replaced by something else. Something intimate. Viktor saw how it made Yuuri uncomfortable, he looked stiff as he stood next to Viktor, staring at the ice. They had gotten some skates on, borrowed, feeling wrong on their feet, but good enough to skate in.

Viktor wasn’t going to let this go to waste. He desperately wanted to get to know the other man. He wanted to know more about Yuuri, wanted to know what kind of skater he was, where he came from, he wanted to know everything.

He shrugged out of his suit jacket, putting it on the closest bench to the rink before he reached for his phone in his pocket. He flipped through his library before he settled on a song, putting it on loudest before he turned back to the other skater. It was now or never.

“What a waste of an empty rink,” Viktor said, something mischievous about his smile as he glanced over at Yuuri. “It’s here, looking absolutely perfect to skate on,” he braced himself on the bannister as he jumped over the fence, landing steadily on the ice. “It’s made for ice dancing. Gliding over the surface, painting it with spins. Too bad there’s only me and you here, huh? You and I could never have the chemistry to dance beautifully on this together. What a waste of an empty rink.”

“You say we could never dance beautifully on it?” Yuuri asked, slowly walking along the rink, skating guards clicking against the ground. “I think I have a say in that too.”

“You’re saying?”

“You look kind of cute in that polyester suit,” he motioned towards the discarded jacket hanging over a nearby bench.

“It’s wool.”

“You’re right. I would never fall for you at all,” Yuuri said, hands gripping the sides of the door in the fence, stepping up on the ledge, keeping his ice on Viktor’s. “This might seem like the perfect opportunity for someone that actually dances. Or anyone that likes you even a little. Alas, I feel nothing.”

“Nothing at all?” Viktor pushed away from the rink-side, gliding over the ice towards the door, gravitating towards Yuuri.

“Could be less than nothing,” Yuuri answered, stepping down on the ice, pushing away and stopping a few feet apart from Viktor.

“Good to know,” the silver haired man smiled, mirroring Yuuri when he glided backwards, feet twisting in a bracket movement, turning then turning back, and suddenly Yuuri is in his face, chests almost pressing together. “So, you agree?”

“That’s right,” Yuuri said, grabbing Viktor’s hand as he backed a step, placing it on his waist and guiding Viktor until they’re gliding over the ice together, slowly raising his hand again to make Viktor spin him, the other man slowly catching the drift and taking over guiding Yuuri closer to him again, wrapping his arms around the other man, each hand in his now. “What a waste of an empty rink.”

They spun in synch, their skates scraping against the surface as they moved to the music. In a silent agreement, Yuuri offered Viktor his own free skate movements. Viktor recognized them, and he mirrored them, turning the solo skate into a duet effortlessly. The movements were still natural to him. They approached the first jump in tandem, both leaping off in synch, but they didn’t move identically, and so they landed out of synch.

Snorting at the miss, Yuuri changed the next step to match Viktor’s so they were in synch again. The next jump was better, both of them landing it on the same time. Yuuri extended his hand, inviting Viktor to join him for the next sequence of the dance. Viktor happily did, grabbing Yuuri’s hand and bringing it up to his cheek, guiding him, so they skated next to each other, feet moving in tandem, their hands keeping them connected.

Viktor tugged at Yuuri’s hand, preparing him for a lift. They slowed down, both unused to pair skating, but their bodies matched up as Yuuri turned his back to Viktor, the Russian trying his best to steel himself for the lift. He tried it, barely getting Yuuri off the ground. They couldn’t keep in the laughter at the failure.

“Not so graceful now,” Yuuri laughed, body keeping up the motions as Viktor decided to dip him instead, arm wrapped around his waist.

“What are you talking about? That counted,” Viktor grinned as he brought Yuuri up again, holding him close to him, spinning him out again. He caressed Yuuri’s cheek with the back of his hand, smiling when the other man returned the sentiment.

They moved on, keeping their distance as they did the camel spin, neither of them managing it flawlessly in dress pants, but they still looked graceful enough.

They came up close again after it, Viktor placing his hands on Yuuri’s waist as they attempted another lift. Viktor tried to make a proper lift this time, wanting to lift Yuuri higher and spin him, but he stumbled, dropping Yuuri who startled. He managed to catch him in the last second with a hand on his wrist and the other one grabbing his wrist. He came to an abrupt stop on the ice, Yuuri pressed tight against his chest. They were both panting slightly, sharing the air between them, blue eyes never leaving brown.

“Not bad for never having danced together before,” Yuuri smiled at Viktor.

“Well, your free leg is a bit sloppy, but we can work on that,” Viktor grinned back, hands refusing to let go of Yuuri, right one still resting on his waist and the other one holding tightly onto his hand. “Can I see you tomorrow?”

“I… I go back to Detroit tomorrow.”

Viktor felt like his heart would stop. Gracefully, almost mechanically, like he was lost again. He hadn’t felt this alive in a really long time, and now he was losing it again. “Some other time, then,” he said as he stepped away, hand falling off Yuuri’s waist. He paused before he let go of him completely though, hand squeezing his. “Thank you for tonight. Let me lead you back to the hotel.”

They didn’t speak on the way back, both lost in their own thoughts, and they didn’t know what more needed to be said. They had talked through their dancing, their movements doing the talking for them, bringing them closer, and now keeping them apart.

The only link between them still was a distant memory of a magical night, and they didn’t let go of each other’s hands until they parted in the elevator on Yuuri’s floor.

Viktor started after him as he stepped out of the elevator. Yuuri paused, turning back, his mouth open in something, a question, a statement, words of wisdom? Viktor would never know, as the doors closed between them, cutting Yuuri off and separating Viktor from the thing that had made him feel something for the first time in forever.


	2. Viktor and Yuuri's Theme

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Following the Grand Prix Final, Yuuri's debating where his career will go now. Will he go home, or keep skating in Detroit?
> 
> Viktor's stalking instagram in an attempt to find Yuuri again, effectively getting distracted by actual competition.

Yuuri didn’t know what his next step would be. The loss at the Grand Prix final had hit him hard, making him feel out of it for the rest of the season. He still managed to perform somewhat well, his triples and his quad toe loop didn’t fail him, but it was by a thin thread that he managed to keep hold of his national title so he wouldn’t have to qualify for the next season if he chose to compete.

Though it didn’t really matter now, did it? He hadn’t qualified for the Four Continents and he hadn’t gone to the World’s either, so his career really was at a standstill right now. It might even be for the best that he was stuck where he was, if he would’ve been competing in the worlds he might’ve just ended up losing and embarrassing him all over again. He could do without the public humiliation, thank you.

Yuuri pretended to not feel an ache in his heart that he had missed his chance to meet Viktor again.

It still seemed like a dream, sometimes when he lay awake at night, when he couldn’t sleep because of anxiety and nerves he was convinced that it hadn’t happened. He’d just gotten drunk at a party because he wanted to forget his failures, then gone and danced with a bunch of very famous and accomplished figure skaters and when he tried to ask Viktor, the elder had gently turned him down and just offered to walk him home instead.

He always ended up with a beating heart and burning eyes when he thought about that. Conjuring up the memories again, willing himself to remember Viktor’s hands on his hips, how they had skated and laughed on the ice. It felt surreal, honestly, that someone like him, an ordinary figure skater from Japan was suddenly skating in the middle of the night with Russian legend Viktor Nikiforov. It really felt like a dream, how the night had turned out for them. It was taken from a movie, scripted with starry eyes and a romantic meeting, running away to a lonely place where they danced of all thing, that was how it had seemed.

Well, in a movie there probably wouldn’t be so much stumbling and slipping.

Yuuri wanted to do it again. Almost desperately so. He wanted to feel the rush of landing a jump completely in synch, seeing Viktor in the corner of his eye, skating perfectly with him, the second part in a complete set. His better half.

No. He had to stop before he got ahead of himself here, he wasn’t going to be doing any of that soon. He hadn’t spoken to Viktor since the Grand Prix, after all. And back then they hadn’t even said goodnight. It had been a drunken night of doing stupid things – they were still considered young after all, and this was what young people did when they were drunk and they didn’t want to be stuck at boring parties with boring old men. Well, maybe not every young person would find a skating rink in the middle of the night and proceed to skate with someone they had never met before.

No, most young people would just sneak back to their hotel room and have sex.

Yuuri groaned at his own thoughts, flipping over so he could bury his head in his pillow. He screamed half-heartedly into the soft fabric, the sound thankfully muffled by the filling of the pillow. He tried to get some of his frustrations out, like people did in movies or books, but it didn’t help. Talk about false advertisement.

He heard a groan from the other side of the room, glancing up he could see the lump that was Phichit in his roommate’s bed shift. Yuuri held his breath as he waited for him to wake up and ask what was wrong – he knew about the night of skating Yuuri had shared with his idol, and he tried to push him to send him a message through Instagram or something of that sort, he even went as far as creating an account for him before Yuuri protested, putting an end to it – Yuuri didn’t feel up to explaining what was wrong right now though. It was pathetic, he thought.

It had been months since the Grand Prix. It was early spring now, just after the end of the season, so Yuuri was at a crossroads. In the next few weeks he would have to decide if he was going to keep this up, or if he was going to retire and go back home to Japan. He tried to not think about it right now, drowning himself in college work under the excuse that he wanted to graduate first. It was good enough for now, but soon enough the questions would surface again and he still wouldn’t have a response.

Yuuri waited until he could hear Phichit’s soft snores again, the other might be up late every other night, but once he was out, he was out until morning. He slept like the dead, that man. And after a day of hard training, he was out like a light now, as early as ten, leaving Yuuri to his thoughts and frustrations.

As silent as he could be, Yuuri threw off his blanket, getting out of bed. He didn’t bother to change out of his pajamas – it was practically work-out clothes, just not his newest ones that he slept in, the sweatpants and t-shirt worked though – he just pulled on some socks, grabbing his shoes and skates on the way out, he grabbed their spare keys to the rink, deciding to go blow off the frustration instead.

It had always been his refuge, the rink. Anytime he had felt anxious, when something bothered him at home, or in school, he would always go down to the rink. He’d be there in his skates, attempting to copy Viktor’s latest program or just do something fun to relax. It was like magic, how the ice seemed to absorb all his worries and feelings, somehow helping him achieve his goals in the way. He knew it didn’t take away his problems, but it was soothing for a few minutes, providing an escape so he could consider his next move before he had to do it. He loved it.

Yuuri was thankful that Celestino had agreed to give them spare keys, it was probably just to be nice after the fiasco at the Grand Prix, but Yuuri was thankful nonetheless. It had provided him with comfort many a night now, a safe break between studying or worrying about his future. He might not have a single clue as to what he wanted to do, but he knew he still wanted to keep close to an ice rink. If he could still skate, professionally or not, he would be fine.

Yuuri found his feet moving across the ice on their own. He had zoned out on the walk over, and lacing the skates up, he could literally do it in his sleep now, and he wasn’t bothered by that in the slightest. When he focused in on the world again, all he could hear was the sound of blades against ice. He tried it out, his feet moving on their own, doing the motions of his latest short program. He snorted, it was easy to remember it now, away from the pressure and the eyes that expected more of him, if the audience could see him now they wouldn’t believe he was the same person.

He came to a halt in the center of the ice, staring at the bench where his jacket was thrown over his stuff, in the same way a suit jacket had been thrown away, discarded, so many months before.

Yuuri took a deep breath, willing the images back again. He’d seen Viktor’s short program so many times now. He’d watched him at the Grand Prix, he’d seen him compete in both the European championships and the World’s, the program as flawless – if not better – when he did it those times. He’d reached his peak at the World’s, of course, getting an amazing score that any skater would kill to see behind their own names. Yuuri knew the program would go down in history as the most beautiful Viktor had ever skated. He felt wrong doing it, but that didn’t stop his body from copying the program from his memory.

His eyes slid closed, mind focusing on the feel of his body instead, ear filling with static music, sound coming out garbled, two pairs of skates doing the same motions. A smile spread across Yuuri’s face as he approached the first jump, he prepared, and launched himself into the air, eyes opening so he could see where he was going to land so he wouldn’t crash into Viktor-

He stumbled on his landing, the spell broken. The sound disappeared in an instant, the scratch of blades cutting like a knife. He was alone at the rink again. There was no one there to share this dance with him. He wasn’t going to be in Viktor’s arms soon, being lifted. It was all just a dream.

Yuuri got up from where he’d touched down, pushing himself until he was standing. The rink was just the same as it always was, cold and harsh, reminding him of his past there, and the future that was still as unclear as a foggy day. He would figure it out, he though as he clenched his jaw. Blinking away the stinging in his eyes he started the routine over, determined to nail it this time.

Who was he kidding? He had no idea what to do next.

 

After such a night of revelation, Viktor thought his life would change. He had felt change that night, that his way of thinking, his goals and motivations were changed permanently.

But then he had woken up the next morning, gone to the press conference after the Grand Prix and he had moved on. Well, not really moved on. The night was still there, every time he thought about it, which was always, his heart still picked up speed, and he found himself breathless. Every time he blinked he caught sight of raven hair, warm brown eyes and that smile. Distracting, it certainly was.

It was a mistake that he hadn’t thought about taking Yuuri’s number or social media names the last night when he had him so close. Viktor hadn’t felt that it was proper to go back down once he was on his own floor in that hotel, Yuuri had probably gone straight to bed, he was pretty wasted after all. He figured that he could just grab the other skater at breakfast, run into him fashionably, remind him that oh, he didn’t get his number last night and they would exchange them and it would be great. He could text him and call him and they would become great friends!

He had it all planned.

Only that Yuuri wasn’t at breakfast. When he asked the receptionist, she’d told him that the other skater had checked out with his coach early in the morning, catching an early flight. She had no clue that she’d practically broken his heart right there. Viktor had thanked her, he was still polite after all, and went on to plan B.

Moaning about it to Chris. The Swiss skater had politely listened to him whining about not getting a way to contact Yuuri, he hadn’t offered any help though, he had just rudely laughed at him, patted his cheek and told him that it was nice to see Viktor pining after someone for a change. 

"Really, Viktor, you're in love now, just like that? What will your fans say," Chris grinned when Viktor swatted his finger away from poking at his cheek. "The death of a bachelor."

"This isn't a joke, Chris," Viktor had said, frowning at him. "It was... It was..."

"Magic?" Chris suggested, chin resting in his hand, a smug grin spreading across his smug face. "I didn't take you as a romantic, Viktor."

Viktor just huffed in response.

He tried not to think too much about the fact that he didn’t see Yuuri again after the banquet.

He tried his best not to think too much about it, they’re both busy people after all. Viktor doesn’t have the time to find the other skater between his competitions and trainings, Yakov kept drilling him for the upcoming competitions, ignoring Viktor’s tales that he didn’t care about another title, he just wanted to see his mystery skater again. Yakov responded my making him run extra laps around the rink.

No, instead Viktor kept up his hopes that Yuuri would turn up at the worlds competition. He kept that hope in his routines, effectively making them better than before, only to be crushed again when a certain Japanese skater didn’t show up at the competition.

So, plan C happened.

Almost every figure skater was on social media nowadays, he almost exclusively kept up with his colleges through apps like Instagram and twitter, where they posted tidbits of their lives through short sentences or pictures. They were all friends on facebook as well, sharing their personal as well as public life with each other, away from the probing of fans.

Well, most did.

Katsuki Yuuri _didn’t._ It was almost like he was trying to make it hard for Viktor to catch up with him again!

Viktor couldn’t believe it. He felt like the prince in Cinderella, looking all around the kingdom for the person that could fit into his glass slipper, or in this case fill the hole in his heart again. It felt a bit creepy as Viktor scrolled through every skater’s Instagram feeds that he could find, trying to see if any of them were friends with Yuuri. He was about to give up when he stumbled upon a certain account named Phichit+chu. He had seen that name show up before, he was an avid commentator on Chris’ Instagram, Chris regularly answered his comments, it was almost always cited in news articles about skaters, and it looked like he had a lot of followers too. Viktor scrolled through endless pictures of the skater being a tourist, and pictures from his training sessions, and selfies with Yuuri-

Wait.

Viktor sat up in his bed, heart beating as he scrolled back up, stopping at the picture. It wasn’t exactly a masterpiece, that picture. It looked like it was taken on the go, the two of them smiling in the bottom of the picture, laughing at something as the outline of a rink and the sky was seen in the background. He didn’t even read the caption before he kept scrolling, trying to see if there was more.

And boy, was there more. Viktor figured that Phichit had to be a very close friend to Yuuri, possibly even a rink mate. There was a lot of pictures of the two of them, posing with their legs on a bench, bent and with their backs to the camera, looking smug as they looked over their shoulders, others were of them hanging out in a room, watching movies. There was even a picture of a sleeping Yuuri, glasses askew and with earbuds still in. Viktor grinned at the picture. He couldn’t wait to see Yuuri again.

He had been too busy during the season to track down his number, or even remembering to ask this Phichit if he could have it. He wasn’t friends with Phichit, but Viktor was this close to ask him just because there was no other way to get it.

So, Viktor set his hopes on the World championships. It was his last chance, really. Well, not really. When the season was over, there were even more chances to find Yuuri, but right now the Worlds seemed like his last shot.

Viktor had spent the entire event trying to look for Yuuri. Up to the competition he had no clue if the man would even attend. Yakov always kept him on a strict “No internet” rule for the weeks before the competition. He’d managed to sneak some minutes in sometimes anyway when the urge to find the other again got too strong, but Yakov only made a point of glaring at him until he surrendered his phone to his coach in preparation for Worlds.

He looked at every single person on the warm ups, focusing more on the people than on practicing for the competition. It drove his coach crazy, but Viktor didn’t care. This was for his mental health and for the future of his career. His coach should understand that this was all just for the best, honestly!

“He’s not here,” Yuri had told him the night before the competition. He’d convinced – well, yelled at until he got approval to come with them, shooting down any complain from his coach that he should relax before the juniors – Yakov to let him come with them to look at it, claiming that he wanted to check out the people he would be up against next year when he debuted in the Senior division. Viktor thought it was mostly to bother him, or possibly watch him because he looked up to him so! Either was possible, honestly.

“Who?” Viktor asked, trying to sound neutral. Of course, he knew who Yuri meant. Yuri had seen how he was looking for the other, too busy to really find him right now outside of an Instagram account that just happened to pop up when he was on the verge of desperation.

“That Japanese disgrace of a skater. He’s not in the lineup. He’s not competing.”

Viktor froze on the spot, forcing himself to swallow hard. Yuuri wasn’t there. The dread he’d felt at the revelation, though, was soon replaced by determination. “Well then. I suppose I’ll have to go to him.”

Viktor could admit that it wasn’t the smartest plan he’d ever had. It wasn’t even close to the smartest plan. It wasn’t even a though-out plan, really. As soon as he’d finished the competition, he’d won with shining colors, again, the dull feeling threatening to take over again. It was so expected. Maybe that was why he really did it? The weeks after the season was over, Viktor had contemplated what he wanted to do now. He still wanted to find Yuuri, but he didn’t have any idea where the man was.

Sure, he had told him where his home rink was, but when Viktor had looked at Phichit’s account again, he’d seen posts about both going back home, and he had no idea where “home” was for Yuuri. He was Japanese, he knew that. Japan was a big country though, and Viktor wasn’t about to go on a road-trip around the whole country trying to look for Yuuri. It would take weeks! Months! Possibly a year! He didn’t have that kind of time no matter how romantic it sounded.

His Wikipedia page had been clean of any clues as to where he was, and the lack of social media and the fact that he wasn’t a huge name in international figure skating, Viktor was left with nothing. He managed to read his way to the fact that he was a great figure skater though, the Japanese champion a lot of years in a row, and he had re-watched the Grand Prix final enough to piece together the commentator’s words to realize that the occurrence of his failure was an anomaly, rather than the set normality.

Viktor had no idea what do to now. He just kept skating, thinking about the next season because that was where he would find Yuuri. Yuuri would surely show up at the next Grand Prix, so Viktor would just meet him then again! Sure, it was a year until then, but Viktor could stand that.

He refused to acknowledge the rumors about Yuuri retiring after the horrid failure. He would come back, and Viktor would meet him again. It was fate, or something. He had to meet him again.

Then, while he was doubting it all, the video appeared.

Just having come back from a walk, he and Makkachin curled up on his couch, tired and satisfied after a walk in the cold city of St. Petersburg. Viktor was more relaxed when he was home at last, allowing himself to relax a bit when he was there. He allowed Makkachin to lay on top of him, the heavy weight on him was comforting in a way, familiar. Viktor petted her fur as he unlocked his phone, seeing an unusual amount of notifications for him. Being famous, of course he got a lot of notifications, but this was strange. There were so many of them, mentions on twitter, links over facebook and even notifications from YouTube.

Viktor frowned as he opened the first, following the familiar name from Christophe’s twitter. He ignored the caption on the status, going straight for the link.

**Yuuri Katsuki try to skate Viktor Nikiforov’s Free skate [Stay close to me]**

Viktor’s eyes widen when he sees the video, quickly pressing play.

The familiar tunes that he no longer associates with his own free skate, but another dance on the ice, filled with giggles and stumbling, lacking the grace the usual program held, stars to pour out of his phone. The camera is fumbling a little before it’s focusing on the person in the center of the ice. Viktor feel like he could remember that face anywhere.

He sees the movements done by Yuuri, remembering how he had moved that night they’d practically broken into the ice rink.  The movements were familiar, yet Viktor could see that they were more polished this time. He’d practiced, Viktor mused, smiling a little. Last time it had obviously been from memory, steps were forgotten and arm-movements an afterthought, but this time he knew the steps. He even managed the jumps, making Viktor’s chest leap. He looked beautiful, in his workout clothes and hair a mess, sticky with sweat but he was smiling. That smile meant everything.

Viktor scanned the screen for more information, grinning when the article mentioned the Ice Castle in Hatsetsu.

Viktor knew where he would find Yuuri now.

 

The decision to head home had been in Yuuri’s head for a while. He had been playing with the thought of retiring, he felt ashamed over the loss at the Grand Prix, and then the blows of losing in the Nationals, and not even qualifying for the Four Continents or the Worlds, he was feeling very done with the whole sport. It felt impossible to climb up there to qualify yet again, so instead, he decided to head home.

After having talked long and hard with Celestino, Yuuri had decided that he was going to go home and relax. His coach had supported that decisions, offering to come back to coach him if Yuuri decided he wanted to continue. There hadn’t been any bitterness, that Yuuri had feared that it would be, his coach had even hugged him before he went home to pack.

Phichit had taken it a bit worse, but Yuuri knew that he would understand eventually. The Thai skater’s reaction had mostly been mock hurt that Yuuri dared to abandon him in this god-awful country.

“Are you just going to leave me here with all these idiots,” he said dramatically, draping himself over Yuuri’s bed, next to his suitcase, throwing an arm over it and effectively stopping Yuuri from continuing to pack. “I’m hurt! Betrayed!”

Yuuri rolled his eyes at him, picking up his arms and dropping it on the side of the skater instead, smiling fondly at him though. He would really miss him. “I’m sure you will survive. Didn’t you talk about going back to Thailand anyway?”

“Not for another few years! I can’t leave Celestino yet,” Phichit huffed, his cheeks blowing up. “There aren’t any elite worthy coaches back home.”

“Ask him to come with you then, that could work,” Yuuri carefully took down the posters of Viktor from his wall, careful not to ruin them as he loosened the tape and removed the pins. They were still precious to him, especially now. Since he was retiring, he wouldn’t have another chance of meeting Viktor again. He tried not to think about it, he didn’t want to feel bad about it, he as focusing on himself right now, instead he tried to remember that night fondly.

Be happy about what you have, not sad about what you don’t and so on. He could still meet Victor if he came to look at the competitions, he supposed. There was always the NHK trophy close to home.

“It won’t be the same to skate without you,” Phichit said, making Yuuri look up from his packing.

“I know. I’ll miss you,” the Japanese offered. Phichit sat up and held out his arms, pulling Yuuri in for a hug.

“We have to face time at least once a day,” Phichit said, squeezing his friend hard.

“You know that the time difference is still a thing, right?” Yuuri couldn’t help but laugh, watching Phichit’s pout when he pulled away from him.

“I don’t care! I can’t let you forget about your bestest friend in the world!”

The separation had been hard, but worth it. Yuuri knew Phichit would go far, he was already planning for the next season, with his eyes set on the Grand Prix. He was talented, and Yuuri didn’t doubt that he would go all the way to the finals with the way he skated, full of life and happiness. His charms would certainly be taking him a long way, he was already dazzling judges left and right, so he wouldn’t have any problems in the future. And with Celestino, he was in good hands.

So Yuuri went home.

He graduated College, figuring that he would have something to fall back on once the decision was official and finalized, once he’d talked to the press and the ISU. It was something, he figured. As soon as he had graduated, he found the first flight he could get back to Japan. The travel was long and tedious, and he realized immediately why he hadn’t been home for five years. He didn’t necessarily like to travel, he had to do it for the international competitions, sure, but that was also the only time he willingly set foot on a plane. His ears always hurt when he flew, and they ended up being a constant distraction to that. He couldn’t sleep either, because of the pressure, which was always a pain. So, he avoided the long flights as much as he could.

Yuuri had missed home, he realized as the train started getting closer to his home town and he could spot it in the distance. It had been five years since he had seen his old friends, Takeshi and Yuuko, he hadn’t been to the studio to see Minako either, and he hadn’t seen his parents. He’d missed so much, he knew. He’d gotten the pictures of Yuuko’s three girls when they were born, he was constantly updated on their growth and progress, Yuuko had sent him endless pictures of their finger paintings and their very first ice skating lesson, short legs stumbling on the ice, he couldn’t wait to meet them.

Yuuri could barely think about Vicchan’s death without being overwhelmed by guilt. He hadn’t been there for his dog, his best friend and biggest support. It was worth it, he tried to tell himself. He had been following his dream. No one else was blaming himself but him.

It still made him think as he stepped off the train, being hit with the familiarity of it all. The posters of himself didn’t really help with his anxiety though. Go home and relax, just forget skating for a while and rest up, his ass.

Minako helped, honestly. She was her usual self, strict but nice at the same time. Yuuri relaxed with her, forgetting about his worries on their way to Yu-topia. They chatted about dancing, how he had trained back in USA. She stayed away from the conversation of his loss, and he was happy about that.

The first days were busy, to say the least. Yuuri had always travelled light, so it was a relief that he didn’t have to unpack too much more than his first bag, so he could focus more on meeting his friends again. Seeing Yuuko, Takeshi and the girls had been his favorite thing. It was nice to see them, honestly. Even if they ended up contributing to his death. He had just wanted to show Yuuko when he was skating Viktor’s program for old times’ sake. A bit of a throwback to their early days, copying Viktor’s programs together. The memories were so fond to him, they were still in a special place in his heart, and he had just wanted to share it with her.

The sudden internet fame following the video of him skating Viktor’s program was something unlike anything Yuuri had ever been through. He couldn’t thank the skies enough that his social media profiles were hidden or forgotten enough that he didn’t get any tweets or posts directly.

That didn’t mean he didn’t see the negative comments. It was frustrating and sad to see all the people talking badly about it. He understood he had gained weight since the Grand Prix finals, but that didn’t mean that they had to remind him. He was well aware of his over-eating and that he was a stress eater. He hadn’t been feeling on top of his game lately, of course something had to suffer. This time it happened to be his tummy.

Scrolling through the YouTube comments on the original video, he wished he had Phichit there to tell him to stop it, and drag him over to the rink to forget about this mess. He still had his mother there though, the gentle woman not quite understanding what got her son feeling so down, but she understood that Yuuri needed distractions, and the hot spring provided.

His mom had no doubt asked his sister to make him help around the inn, providing him with a distraction. Yuuri had been fretting in his room when he heard the knock on his door. His head snapped up, and he exhaled when he saw his sister there.

Mari was probably the one that understood him the most in their house. She was the most well-versed in the news media, and even if she still didn’t understand much of the sport, she had his name on google alerts, and she followed all the sports sites that posted about the results of his competitions, keeping his parents and the loyal patrons updated on his career.

They had always stayed in touch, making sure to call multiple times a week. He mostly just talked once a week to his parents, but with Mari he found himself texting, or chatting over facebook, or calling multiple times. He’d facetimed with her and Phichit (his best friend _adored_ his sister. He wanted to come visit solely because of his sister. And his mom. Phichit thought she was the best for some reason Yuuri didn’t quite understand, she was just a regular mom, but he didn’t mind either), and she had been an incredible support for him. She seemed to understand how he was feeling without him even explaining to him. She’d seen the video too, he knew that. Who hadn’t?

Mari didn’t comment on it though, sensing that he didn’t want to talk about the thoughts swirling in his head, stirring up shame and guilt. She’d seen it before, had been delivering too many bad news to him to not know what was going on inside his head. Instead, she just smiled at him, arms folded over her chest.

“You want a distraction?” she asked, in a way that only his big sister could, making Yuuri breathe out a small sigh. He nodded, dutifully following her as she brought him out to the laundry, setting him to work folding towels with her.

The chore was welcome, it was monotone and simple enough that he didn’t feel bad that he was too distracted to make it good, his hands remembered how to do it, so he could just let them go. They worked in silence, letting the rustle of fabric against fabric fill the space between them, mixing with the general hum of the patrons and guests of the inn.

“I’m sorry about the final,” Mari said finally, breaking the silence. They hadn’t discussed anything about it, it was still a sore subject for Yuuri. But he supposed if he was going to talk to anyone about it, it would be Mari.

“Thank you,” he said after taking a deep breath, giving her a weak smile. “It’s over now.”

“There’s talk about you retiring. Is that why you came home?”

“Are people saying that?” Yuuri looked at his older sister, who just shrugged. “Does mom think that?”

“Mom’s just happy you’re home, she’s not going to question it for a while.” Mari huffed, giving him a nudge in his side with her elbow. “You should’ve visited more, they missed you.”

“Didn’t you miss me?” Yuuri grinned back at her, putting away the towel he just finished folding.

“I didn’t miss your subpar folding,” she snorted as she took the towel he just put away, Yuuri just not realizing that she’d been refolding all the towels he’d folded. He feigned hurt, making a face at her, making her roll her eyes. “I’m glad you’re back, Yuuri. Tell me, are there any cute guys over in the states?”

Yuuri gave her a thankful smile, he had missed being around her, and her ability to change the subject away from the hard parts when he was done talking about it. He went about chatting about his school instead, and of course, describing some of the boys he knew his sister would’ve loved to meet.

 

Yuuri threw himself into the hard work, trying to ignore the fact that people kept talking behind his back, laughing on the internet at the fat skater that tried to be as good as Viktor and failed so hard. He could hear the mean comments clear enough in his head, he didn’t need a physical reminder in the way of comments under the video or tweets. He barely even touched his phone for two days after that. He checked up with Phichit over his laptop once, but other than that he tried to stay off the internet as much as possible to not tempt himself to look at the comments.

It wasn’t until it rung one morning that he picked it up.

“It’s Yuuri,” he greeted, being interrupted by Yuuko on the other end.

“Yuuri, you need to come here now.”

“Uh, where? Are you home?”

“No! The Ice Castle! Now! Viktor’s here,” she hissed into the phone before she hung up on him, leaving Yuuri staring into a wall.

What the… what?! He jumped up from his bed, throwing his covers off and down on the floor. He quickly threw on the closets clothes he could find, a pair of his workout clothes that weren’t too bad, he practically lived in them, and he practically ran to the ice rink.

It wasn’t that far, but every step felt like it took an eternity. He must’ve heard wrong, there was no chance that Viktor was at the Ice Castle, much less in Hatsetsu. Yuuri had never told anyone where he was from, he hadn’t been well known when he lived at home, and after that he had just told everyone that he lived in Detroit. There was no way that Viktor knew where to find Yuuri! (Maybe that had been a mistake. He had told him Detroit too, and then he had left, smart move since he wanted to meet him so badly now). He surely heard wrong.

Yuuri was panting by the time he reached the rink, sweat running down his face and making his clothes cling to his body.

“Where-” he didn’t have to finish the sentence before Yuuko pointed to the ice, looking pale, as if she’d seen a ghost, and a little bit like she was about to faint.

Yuuri didn’t blame her. He felt the same way, weak in his knees and breathless – that could also be because of the run, he wasn’t sure – as he walked over to the door. He pushed it open, holding his breath as he looked over the ice.

And there he was. Like a sign from god, it seemed like the light was drawn to him, Viktor was in the center of the ice, skating comfortably around the ice. He looked like he was trying it out, getting used to the feeling of it underneath his custom gold blades. Yuuri couldn’t look away from him, the melancholic look on his face tugged at something in Yuuri’s heart.

“Viktor,” he said, more out of surprise than calling for his attention. It had the silver-haired man’s head snap up though, and Yuuri got a beaming smile directed at him.

“Yuuri!” Viktor immediately skated over to Yuuri’s side of the rink, grinning at him. “I wasn’t sure if this was the right place, but I decided to skate since I was here after all, and now you’re here! What a coincidence!”

“Coincidence,” Yuuri echoed, frowning. “What are you doing here?”

“Why, I was looking for you! You didn’t give me your number.”

“You came all this way, from Russia, to get my number?”

Viktor grinned in response, leaning over the fence, hand swatting for his jacket. Automatically, Yuuri grabbed the grey jacket from where it was lying on the bench close to the rink, handing it over to Viktor. The man hummed as he dug through his pockets until he found what he was looking for, hands quickly producing the black, white and pink rectangle from his pocket. The next second a phone was handed over to Yuuri.

“There! Give me your number please,” he said, making Yuuri snort at him. It was like being back in school, and the way people asked out people they liked, simply asking for their numbers. Yuuri had never been brave enough to do that, nor did he have time for dating with how much time he spent in the ballet studio or in the rink. He had only ever gotten close to Yuuko and Takeshi, only because they spent as much time as he had there.

He took the phone with an amused smiled, the colors of the case reminded him of Viktor’s free skate outfit, looking closer, he would’ve realized that it was a minimalist version of his outfit, but right then he focused on more important things. Like giving Viktor a way to call him. Yuuri found the contacts button, even if the language of the phone was strange, the icons were still the same. He could guess his way towards the new contact, smiling in triumph as he found it and entered his number.

“There,” he said, handing the phone back to Viktor, who lit up when he got the phone. He practically squealed when he saw the number, Yuuri hadn’t been able to put in his name in, the keyboard confusing to him. “I-I couldn’t put my name in though.”

“No problem! I’ll fix it.” He paused, fingers tapping away until he seemed satisfied and Yuuri could hear a chime from his back pocket, signaling a new text on his own phone.

“Now you’ll never get rid of me!” Viktor grinned at him, and in that moment, Yuuri couldn’t help but think that he didn’t want to get rid of him. Ever.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is basically a transportation chapter, telling the tale of the months between the Grand Prix and their next meeting in a neat little 7k package. I do like this chapter though, it was pretty easy to read, and I could throw in some more interactions that need love, like Yuuko, Mari and Yurio. I really want to add more little scenes like that in the future work!
> 
> Comments and feedback is much appreciated! The rest of it is a work in progress, so if you comment now I might add your suggestions!
> 
> Thank you all for reading! Until next chapter!

**Author's Note:**

> Please leave comments and kudos and bookmark this, it keep me writing! Do you have tips, wishes for the future of the fic etc, feel free to share! I'm still writing and editing it so everything can be added ;)
> 
> Follow me on tumblr! http://glitterprinsessa.tumblr.com/
> 
> Stay safe until next time!


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